Once
by Namine09
Summary: An elderly woman recounts her years of youth when trees were everywhere, fresh air was plentiful, and a strange young man came to her town with his invention that would change everything... This story will end up being rated M in the future and I'll be trying to do a weekly update every Thursday. The prologue is short, but the chapters won't be.
1. Prologue

Soft as silk and filled with the fragrance of butterfly milk; I can hardly think of a better summer day, but things didn't always used to be this way. They used to be much worse, and though the world is filled with beauty and hope, the only thing that keeps it from being perfect is the absence of my son. It's been near eleven years since he's died and I've still yet to have grown accustomed to it. He would have loved trees and the scent of grass, and while it had a chance to be a nestled memory in his head while he grew, it's nothing in comparison to how soft it feels under your bare feet or blowing against your ankles.

He was a climber that one, I bet he would have tried to reach to the very tops of the Truffula tufts, maybe even bring them back down to make his own fantastical stuffs. At this age I don't think I could manage any amount of climbing no matter how small, but sometimes I still laze in the swing I've fastened to my own tree. They were gone for so long that I find it disrespectful and horrid to not try and soak up all of their fresh air and shade while I still can. There's probably another twenty years left in me and breaking my neck isn't on the agenda.

Oh dear me, all this talk of trees and the past and dead sons has to be terribly confusing. Starting at the beginning is probably wiser, so if you'll give me the chance to start over then I'll be more than happy to relay the years of my youth.


	2. Chapter 1

I was nineteen when everything started happening, but that's not where my story begins. I was born in Plantersville, a town about one hundred miles away from anything that was deemed important. My father owned a farm that he got from his father, who got it from his father, who had it passed down from his father and so on and so forth. By the time I was nine my five sisters had already grown and left, but most everyone in Plantersville does that at some point. In a farm community business isn't exactly booming since everyone can live off of their own establishment, and my family was no different. The real money came from the textile mills, but I had no motivation to be stuck in a hot sticky mill all day.

No, my place was in the grass, collecting eggs and drawing out milk from our cows' plump utters. It was hard work, but it sure beat being cooped up somewhere all day in the heat and sweatified factories for textiles. Back then things were simpler and that's just how I liked it. Why, I'd never even been to the cities and had only seen them on post cards and in books. Everyone else ooed and aaahed over their shining structures, but they seemed dangerous to me. No, much too high for my liking: anything that could reach higher than a tree was just too untrustworthy in my opinion.

My parents named me Lily. Mother says it's because it's her favorite flower, father says it's because it was what mother's room was filled with after I'd been born. Whatever the reason I always liked it just the same. Ironically enough we never grew any normal lilies on our farm, not even in the luxury gardens. Our gardens were marvelous: filled with catalillies, dogalillies, tiger lilies, chrysanthemum pearls, roses, violets, and right in the middle of each one was a lazily swaying Truffula tree. Each one was a different color, and when the sun was setting it was hard to tell where the trees ended and the sky began.

The gardens were beautiful, but the trees were always my favorite. Evergreens were pretty too and always made me think of Christmas when I inhaled their scent, but they were always outshined by the Truffulas. At that age I'd shimmy up them and plop right down in the middle of their tufts and let myself disappear for as long as my parents could stand it. Sometimes, on warmer nights, they'd let me sleep there all through the night, and on those nights I always had the deepest rest.

I was eleven years old when my parents decided that living in Plantersville had become more work than it was worth, and despite my begging and pleading, I along with everything else we owned aside from the house was packed up and ready to be moved. My feet planted firmly in the ground, stubborn as the roots of all of the plants that I'd be leaving behind. I didn't want to leave; I liked my life here and didn't want to throw it all away for some city in the concrete and steel. Give me dirt and grass any day. They promised that we'd start a farm there, make twice as much as we could ever make here, even more, but I didn't care about money. I may have only been eleven then, but I knew what I wanted and this move wasn't it.

As the last of our belongings was secured to one of the wagons, I quickly shimmied up one of our Truffula trees one more time. Who knew the next time I'd be able to have my very own to lay in? Neither one of them stopped me and I'm thankful that they let me laze in the embrace of those silky tufts for an hour. They told me the reason why was because they had things to be busied with in the mean time, but I knew that they'd miss the gardens as much as I would and that a part of them probably had their own urges to snuggle into the welcoming Truffula tops.

"Lily! Come on now, it's time to go, the livestock is getting restless!"

My lips pulled in, biting back tears before they could continue falling. I wiggled my arms into the tufts, giving back what I hoped was as comforting an embrace as the Truffula was able to give me. My fingers wrapped around something hard and smooth and I pulled my arm out, looking down at the thick seed in my palm. They usually fell all around the trunks and at the first of each month we'd go out and plant them. There were still some of our little Truffulas growing now; hopefully nature would take care of them from here. Not wanting to leave anything else behind, I pushed the seed into my pocket, rubbed a tuft against my cheek one last time, and slid back down the trunk.

There was no scolding for dallying today and my mother rested her hand on my shoulder and led me to the wagon she'd be leading. Father was leading the wagons of animals and mother had the job of leading our personal things. After I'd nestled into my seat I looked up at her just as she took the reins and pulled away from our home,

"Mama, do you think we'll be able to have a tree?"

Her lips smiled, but I took note that her eyes never left the dirt road ahead of us,

"Well maybe pumpkin, if we have room."

If we have room? If we have roooom? How could we not have any room, we always had room, acres and acres of room. I was disliking this new place more and more. It was a good two days before we'd even made it to the city that I'd be forced to call home and I'd woken with a start. The moon was high in the sky, big and bright and full, it had to be at least past midnight by now. Father was speaking in hushed tones to mother as they started to unbuckle the lengths and lengths of straps around our furniture. They must have been trying not to wake me, but I was awake now and sitting up on one arm.

Though the moon was big enough, the stars were more difficult to try and spot. I wasn't used to this many lights and kept wondering how anyone here could ever manage falling asleep. This was where we were supposed to live? There was land, but not nearly as much as we'd had and certainly no endless fields. To call it a farm would be to name it that by technicality only, and as I looked around I was able to see that we were the only farm around. The nearest house was a little ways from us, but their land was clearly marked off with fences. It was more like we were an extra appendage to the town than a true part of it…like a growth, or a mutation. How were we ever supposed to fit in here?

The tension that had been building in my chest eased a tiny bit when I saw them: trees, lots and lots of trees around the town, and even some within it. There weren't as many as I was used to, but I hadn't even expected to see a single one. Pictures of cities always showcased their buildings and transportation; there was hardly ever mention of their plant life. Maybe this place wouldn't be _too _bad. Maybe.

"Oh, Lily you're awake. I'm sorry pumpkin, I thought we were quiet enough for you to slee-"

"Mama! There's trees, lots of trees, can we plant one?"

Her apologetic smile for waking me began to falter. That was more of an answer than I needed and before I could hear her condemning words, I pushed up and out of my seat. The ground here wasn't nearly as soft: the roads weren't dirt, they were graveled, here at least. Maybe it'd be different in town. For now I wanted to see what this house was like.

It wasn't bigger than our old home like I expected it to be, if anything it seemed smaller by two rooms. Good thing none of my sisters still lived with us or some of us would be doubling up. Other than the smaller size it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Its walls were smoother and newer than ours, but I liked the old wood and weather smoothed stones of our other house. This place hardly looked lived in and I half wondered if it had been recently built. How long had my parents been planning moving here? Could they have been having it built for a few months? A year? I didn't like thinking about it.

I moved around the wagon towards my father and gently pulled on the tail of his vest and clasped my hands behind my back when he looked down at me with a tired smile,

"Papa, can I go inside?"

Without a word he nodded and held out a small silver key towards me. I took it eagerly, surprised by how small and fragile it felt.

"Be careful sweet pea, there's still some work that needs finished on the inside."

I nodded absently and moved to the door hurriedly. I was just itching to see what this place looked like on the inside, or what my room would be like. With a quick turn of the key and an even quicker turn of the doorknob I was inside. It smelled like paint and freshly shaven wood. The walls were completely bare and even though I knew that it wasn't being lived in, I shuddered at how very absent it all seemed. If we for some reason weren't the first to live here then the last people had been wiped out completely. There wasn't even a scratch to be seen or a marking on the door frame to show how much people had grown over the years.

Being careful like he'd told me to be, I carefully moved into the house, watching where I stepped. It was dark but there was more than enough moonlight pouring through the naked windows to light my way. The kitchen was in the back and it seemed like it was the biggest room in the house. Good, a small kitchen was just…weird. Through the house and to the right was a hall, and that one led to another hall that went left and right. There were three rooms: two bedrooms and a bathroom. Wow…my sisters and I would have had to do a lot more than double up; all of us would have been in one room. Not fun, and for once I was selfishly thankful that I was the only one left here. Hopefully mother and father wouldn't want any more children after me or else room would go down more and more, especially if it turned out to be a boy.

I stopped at what would most likely end up being my room and let my eyes slowly sweep over the blank white walls. With a little paint and time I could have it looking like home quickly. We could do this; we could make this place more like home. My head nodded once in reassurance and I rested my hands on my hips in determination. Footsteps padded quietly behind me and I felt my mother's hand on my shoulder,

"It's empty now, but it'll turn around. And see? You have the room all to yourself without worrying about anything your sisters would have wanted kept in it; you can do whatever you want. Maybe even paint some of those trees you wanted, hmm?"

It'd make the room much more splendid, but it wouldn't be the same as a real tree. The seed in my pocket felt much heavier now, as if I'd brought something with us that I shouldn't have. With the vegetables that we'd need to use the space on our land for, I knew there'd be no room for a tree, much less a garden. Still, I nodded and looked up at her with a small smile,

"It'll be pretty."

And it would be pretty. Maybe, just maybe, we'd be able to expand one day and I'd have a chance to plant something from home. That's what would make it perfect.


	3. Chapter 2

Greenville was the name of the city I would later learn. I was told that the name came from the ideal that people that moved here could have a fresh start. Over the next few weeks that seemed to hold true. The people there were friendlier than I would have expected, nothing like my stereotype for city livers at all. The best part about moving and having to get the farm together was that I got to miss school. While it was fun and relaxing to be able to stay home and only worry about getting the land ready and the house fixed up, a nervous knot was tightening every day at the idea of having to start in a brand new school with people I'd never seen before.

This is when having siblings around would have been handy. It was a good two months before I was able to go to school officially, and I found that schoolmates and neighbors were completely different. True that our nearest neighbors were almost a mile away, but we still socialized with them to keep everything on good terms.

Everyone at the schools though, they were dressed differently, even the children in lower lessons than mine. And they all had gadgets with them to use. I was completely lost and did my work at least twice as slow as everyone else since we couldn't afford the things other people saw as normal. They kept offering me secondhand things to use, but they were so finicky that it almost took me the same amount of time to use them rather than doing everything longhand. It didn't matter though: good grades or not, I knew what I was going to end up doing for the rest of my life.

My sisters may have left, but I had no intention of deserting the family business. Luckily father threw away the dream of passing things down to a son eleven years ago when he had me, the sixth daughter. Sometimes things are just supposed to work out a certain way, and trying over and over again for a son wasn't financially safe. Not that we were poor back in Plantersville, and the farm gave us enough food and shelter to last the rest of our lives without money, but here in the city…well, it was a saving grace to only have to worry about one child. I really did hope that they wouldn't be attempting to have a boy again.

One good thing about living there and being one of maybe only ten other farms was that, like my parents thought, business was certainly much more booming than it ever could have been back at home. It wasn't until the next year that I'd be able to have electronic help in school, but I preferred doing everything on my own; it felt lazy to use a machine to do work for me when all the effort I would have to put into it was writing on paper.

That is, until I got to high school. By then I'd already made a niche for myself. It wasn't a vastly huge group of friends, but we were close and intimate. I wouldn't have had it any other way. High school mathematics were so different, and to even attempt to do anything without a calculator would have been murder on the brain, and I had six other subjects to worry about; there was no time to fry my mind out on one course.

Unfortunately the house wouldn't maintain its small cozy feel for long. With how much business we got, we ended up having to expand our land, which meant that our house grew as well. Maybe now I'd be able to plant a tree. We'd been doing so well that it didn't seem like as selfish of an idea anymore. Yet I didn't pull the old seed from its safe nestled spot in my trinket box. After all, there were acres and acres of Truffula trees all around the city and down in the valley. For now the seed would remain with the rest of my childhood treasures. I was going to be seventeen soon and there wasn't time to worry about growing trees when work was piling up.

Tilling the crops and tending to the animals became so normal to everyday life that I ended up getting a job. It wasn't much, I pretty much just worked in one of the shops we had in town. Marketing was something that I…wasn't as skilled in. Ask me how to grow what or which way was the best to raise an animal and I'd be set. But have me figure out how to put on a sale? That was like asking me to read hieroglyphics. I mostly just worked at the register and helped people around with the groceries while a young man that father hired worked on the marketing end. Maybe school wouldn't be such a worthless idea.

After all, manning the farm might not be what I'd end up doing after all: I might one day have to take over one of these shops, and if I didn't know how to market correctly then some stranger could come along and take our business right out from under us. It was scary and I hated the idea of growing up more and more the older I got. Eighteen seemed to be uncomfortably close and I hadn't even turned seventeen yet.

Over time school started to feel like an unnecessary chore: I needed an apprenticeship, but that was starting to be harder to come by lately, even for boys. That's not to say that schooling was worthless, there were just things I was learning there that I knew I wasn't going to ever need in the real world. When would I have to know how to recite a poem to survive? Mathematics and sciences were the only real courses that someone like me would need. University was a possibility, but what would it be like when I came back? With how well we were doing here, I knew that it wouldn't be a struggle for me to go, but I'd never been away from home before. What if I ended up like my sisters? What if I decided to never come back? Could I really do that? Had they been as tenacious about keeping the farm alive when they were my age? The bigger world might have changed their views…I didn't like the idea of it.

There were some good universities here, but none of them specialized in marketing, and that's what I needed to know inside and out if I was going to keep up our farm and our shops. We'd already hired others to work on the farm since it had expanded so much, and more would come if we ever got another section of land somewhere else. I have no idea how father's able to do it so well. I'd already asked him to teach me and it didn't go as well as I thought it would have,

"I don't get it, why can't _you _just teach me? It'd save time and money and I could just be done with school now."

His expression was set as he continued to work on the bills and paychecks of that month,

"I already told you, you need to go to school."

I fell into a chair at the table and dropped my head into my crossed arms,

"But it's a waste of time and money. I already know what I'm going to do with my life, I've known for years, why can't you just teach me?"

He sighed and I could picture the face he had; I'd seen it many times as a child when I knew that he was starting to get exhausted about a subject. His eyes were probably closed right about now,

"There's too much work to be done here, baby. Sometimes there just isn't enough time for me to manage this _and _manage you."

"But I don't _need _managing. I handle the grocery in town just fine on my own, I just can't figure out the marketing side."

I heard him set down his pencil and I lifted my head up; moving my eyes to meet his, but just as I thought, they _had _closed.

"It's not just about marketing. If something were to happen to your mother and me tomorrow," he knocked on the wood of the table, "then what would you do?"

My jaw locked, I knew where he was getting with this and I didn't like it. Like anyone, I'd be devastated at the newfound death of my parents,

"I'd mourn…"

His eyes opened on mine and I moved my own away, his voice was softer,

"You'd mourn. But you'd have to pick everything back up, and it's not as easy as it sounds. This isn't a one person job and you can't do it on your own. Someone else can come in to-"

My eyes flashed back to his and my heart spiked faster,

"So you're going to replace me? Give this place to some stranger?"

Now I was getting mad, but underneath all of that was hurt. I couldn't show it.

"Lily it's not replacing you, it's getting help."

"It's a stranger."

Another sigh and now he was the one looking away from me. His hand lifted to his nose and he rubbed the pad of his thumb against the bridge of it; a motion usually synonymous with him becoming stressed.

"We'd be careful, and don't worry: neither one of us is going anywhere right now, but this is something we've been thinking about for a while, long before today's discussion. If something were to happen then the business and land would go to you so you don't have to worry about that: that hasn't changed."

Which was a bit of a relief to me since it meant there'd be no way to have everything taken from us. My other sisters weren't exactly thrilled about the idea of the youngest getting nearly everything, but if I was going to be the one trying to take over then what other choice was there? They had their chance; it wasn't my fault that they all left. I'm making them sound more horrible than they truly are, but in this instance they have no grounds anywhere to complain.

"Now, this discussion is over for today. You're going to university. Work hard and stay on track and you'll be back quicker than you know it."

But it wasn't just leaving the farm and all but abandoning my work that was bothering me: the homesickness was something I hadn't had to face before. Sometimes I could hardly even keep comfortable while spending the night at a friend's house. And that was just one night, what would four years feel like? I'd be back on holidays and during summer break, but what about the other months when I'd be away? My parents were lucky: when they were younger you didn't need to go to universities to get a job, you could just take an apprenticeship, but with how newfangled everything was becoming…well, those days were going extinct.

What's more, I'd be a different person when I was finished, I might not even want to run things the same way that my parents would. Devices weren't the only things that were changing: marketing schemes were too. Hell, I could turn out greedy and not care about the farm or people that worked on it at all.

Then what type of person would I be…?


	4. Chapter 3

With great reluctance I agreed to a university. It wasn't ideal, but if it's what I needed to do to get closer to running our farm then it's what I would do. Much to my chagrin it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I even got my first kiss there, even if it was a little awkward at the beginning. Relationships weren't really something I sought out, but the press of his lips had been nice while it lasted. I think in the end we both realized it was not going anywhere and ended it mutually.

Yes, my first semester away was an eye opener on many levels. I'd always thought that things were simple for those that wanted to be with another person in a romantic way: you meet, you become friends, you start a relationship, and then you get married. I had no idea that the social tree had so many branches, and thousands of leaves to go along with them. Well, if for some reason I ever did want to take that path it certainly wouldn't start at a place I wasn't even sure about staying at. I am happy to say though, that the two of us were able to get along after the…split. He's lovely, and when he finds a person for him they'll be lovely together.

His marketing skills surpassed mine in a way that could only be described as embarrassing. For me. The longer I stayed, the more I realized that marketing really just wasn't my field. I was too abrasive, and not in an "acceptable way". My emotions were my problem: I simply wasn't able to look beyond the need of my own personal life. At the end of the day I didn't want to go work for another company or business, I wanted to stay with my family and that rawness kept my eyes hardened and my vision tunneled.

"How do you plant a vegetable?"

He'd said to me one night.

"It depends on what the vegetable is."

I'd answered. His eyes halved, we both knew where he was going with this so I backed down with a sigh, leaning back in my chair,

"Gently at first."

He pointed at me, his eyes widening with exaggerated eagerness, but it was sweet,

"Yes, exactly! Gently at first. That's how you need to treat marketing."

I was skeptical, "By being gentle? How is that going to get anything done?"

He shook his head, "No no, you're thinking too far ahead. Think about it, if you walked into a shop and the signs were big and bold lettered, capitalized, and saying 'Buy this shirt. Now.' well, you wouldn't want to purchase it now would you?"

"That's different though."

His arms folded on his knees as he leaned on them, eyebrows raised, "How is it different?"

"I wouldn't be selling clothing."

Again he shook his head at me, "You're thinking too short term. All marketing is done the same: gentle and welcoming in the beginning, ruthless later. With the customer you always have to keep warmth, especially with a family business. What kind of message would it send if your family was being bossy in their marketing schemes?"

I knew what he was getting at and looked away from him, "They'd be tense."

I sighed in defeat, but he continued on, "Exactly. Calm down."

His hands were warm when he stood from his seat and rubbed my arms. We may not have been with each other in the romantic sense any longer, but sometimes there were those moments where the idea of being physical was wondered about. On both ends. As if on cue he pulled his hands back and sat on the ottoman in front of me,

"Listen, you have this potential to do great things for your family, but you need to breathe once in a while. Stressing on it this much isn't going to get it done any faster."

That fact only irritated me more. Universities and libraries weren't where I belonged; dirt and barns were, but here I was, trapped. These types of conversations continued on through that first semester and halfway into the second, but by the time summer break had come I knew I wasn't going back. Not because of shy breakups or annoying tests, but because father was simply unable to handle the stress on his own anymore.

The doctor had strictly informed him to delegate some of the work to another, and I have to admit that I was a little horrified when I wasn't the instant choice. Not that he had someone else in mind, but even with me coming home from school to stay and help, he still wouldn't relinquish me more responsibility. The most I got was handling everything that had to do with the grocer's on my own, and I'd basically done that through high school. Only now I was the one signing paychecks and setting up sales on my own.

If this were a test then I'd do any and everything I had to in order to pass it. It was also then that I realized how much help I'd had back at school, but I couldn't constantly be sending him letters asking for advice. Hell, if I did that then he might as well have been the one running everything. Sadly, I knew that if I asked him then he'd probably consider it, but I wasn't that type of person. No, he needed to continue on with his own studies and go off to do greater things than I'd ever be able to do.

So here I was, nineteen years old and running a fast growing grocery all on my own. I'd like to say that I was taking to it quickly, but it was harder than I remembered. Apparently a year away from home had softened me to good old fashioned hard work more than I'd realized. Not that I'd been a party goer or a lazy person while away, but I hadn't had to do a lick of work that could ever compare to what I'd been raised on. Even getting used to how I ate back at home was difficult.

At school I cooked while I could, but it wasn't a necessity since I had money to go out and buy already made food. The only reason I didn't survive that way was because I hated what it did to my body, in other words: I didn't like gaining weight. It makes you slow and awkward, so the first time I pulled on a skirt and it felt too tight I knew that I had to start cooking at home more. Going back to eating everything from scratch shaved off any extra weight I may have had…and not in a fun way. You wouldn't believe what changing your diet can do to your body, even if it is in a healthy way. You spend a lot of time feeling sick and even more time wanting to sleep. Luckily, I'd only had a year's worth of garbage food to live with as compared to the other eighteen.

My third month of being home was when things started to get…interesting. By nine thirty one Wednesday, I realized that Liza, one of the girls that worked in the store, was going to be late for work. Where was she? Like any young teenager in their first job she had made a few mistakes and been late a couple of times, but never by this much. Not without a proper excuse or a message from someone to let me know where she was. At nine forty-five I'd had it, and threw my apron on the countertop, ready to go out and find her myself.

With perfect timing, her head popped into the store, blonde hair unkempt as usual, yet still innocently sweet enough that any sharp words I had for her were lost in her wide blue eyes. She spoke quickly, as if to make sure I still wasn't going to yell at her. It was so simple, so seemingly insignificant, nineteen little words:

"Lily, come quick! There's a strange man in the gazebo in the middle of town, he has a guitar!"


End file.
